The Oddments Drawer of 221B Baker Street
by Marion Hood
Summary: A collection of stories from the Flatmates series. Set over all three fics.
1. The Third Brother or Q

_**Set during Stalemate**_

* * *

><p>MI6 wasn't a place Hermione had often had the honour of visiting. She found she rather disliked the experience, finding it an education in manipulation and, ultimately, a waste of her time. The meeting she had just come from had been with a Mr Tanner, regarding the potential of magical defence systems in espionage. He had attempted, somewhat foolishly, to coerce her into complying. She had, in no uncertain terms, told him to get stuffed, a story her husband would almost certainly enjoy. As she stepped out on to the street, Hermione scanned the crowds restlessly, her eyes catching on something that was probably a coincidence but looked entirely too real to be completely discounted.<p>

The coincidence was slight, with a head of dandelion fluff hair in a shade that was remarkably familiar and the level of intelligence which had let him know almost immediately that he was being observed. She frowned, taking in the aristocratic features, the flask of tea balanced next to him and the sharp, curious eyes which stared back at her unrepentantly.

For a moment Hermione simply hovered in indecision, one thumb rubbing against her wedding ring. Then she crossed the stream of traffic and walked smartly towards him, her heels rapping against the pavement as she approached the bench. She didn't wait to be invited, simply setting herself down next to him and smoothing out her suit skirt.

"Lovely weather." She commented dully, placing her files on her lap. The plain manilla was designed to be unrecognisable from any accountant's office world wide, so Hermione wasn't overly worried about them being read. Besides all of her notes were coded in a somewhat pointless attempt to keep Sherlock out of them.

The young man next to her didn't respond and Hermione guessed that he was probably of an age with her and certainly not any older than twenty five.

"My name is Hermione." She said without any further preamble. "The surname used to be Granger, but it changed a few years ago."

Sharp eyes glanced from her to her left hand, blue eyes hidden behind stylish frames and the man pulled his anorak slightly tighter around him.

"Possessive, is he?" The man asked, accent cultured and precise.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Rather." She sighed. "Still, this could of course, be a complete coincidence but I don't believe in such a thing. _He _certainly doesn't." Hermione frowned. "I am almost certain you don't exist." She mused. "Either to do with your work, you're obviously employed in MI6 or, perhaps, to do with meddling higher up in the government from certain _individuals_. Anyway, I won't waste time asking your name, as I've done nothing to earn it." He did nothing to refute this claim, just watched her silently. "It's a pleasure to meet you, however informally." Hermione added, refusing to look away.

She waited for a second, but where her husband seemed destined to fill every second of the day with noise and action, this man seemed just as happy to leave them empty.

"Family is important." She said at last. "It always will be. Mine has always been unconventional and my marriage only increased that, I'll admit. But I will _always_ step forward for those who fall under my remit. I suspect that you would do the same." She reached out with one slightly scarred hand and touched the back of his where it rested on his trouser leg. "I don't know what that pair of _idiots_ did, but let me assure you if you ever need any help, anything at all, I will do everything in my considerable power to help you." Her teeth gritted. "No matter what domestic such an action may cause.

The young man didn't respond, and Hermione didn't expect him to. Instead she got to her feet and gave him one last smile before she strode off into the ornamental gardens.

"Have a nice day, dear brother." She called back.

* * *

><p>The tall man melted out of the shadows, making his way determinately towards the bench. Eyes as cold as steel took in the woman's retreating back before he filled her now empty seat. She looked like a bureaucrat. She walked, however, like a soldier which was mix that nobody liked, least of all him.<p>

"Trouble?" He asked carefully.

His companion smiled dangerously, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Hardly. Although there's certainly no need for your over protectiveness."

The blond man snorted at that but relaxed slightly, in the same sort of way that a panther relaxes to fool you into think you're not prey. His gaze was possessive however and the younger man seemed to endure it with some amusement.

"An old friend?" He inquired.

"On the contrary," The younger man teased. "A complete stranger. Or at least, she was."

"She seemed to know you..." He growled.

"She is remarkable intelligent." waved the next question aside before it could be asked. "Those of genius level intelligence do find it easy to recognise each other."

A further five minutes passed before the older man spoke again, straightening his suit.

"So are you going to tell me, or do you enjoy being smug?"

"Immensely." The smile turned into a smirk. "I believe I just had the pleasure of meeting my sister-in-law."

"One of those _nightmares_ managed to tie down a woman?" The blond exclaimed, disgusted.

"Oh, I'm sure there's an interesting story behind it." He coughed. "All though it is possible they actually did tie her down. She didn't really seem the type."

The other man rolled his eyes, used to his companions habit of getting off topic.

"What did she want? To warn you away like the rest of them, or...?"

"I believe she just welcomed me to the family." There was a quiet exhale of air. "I do hope she knows what she's gotten herself into."

"I didn't." His companion grumbled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This is the first in a series of shorts which didn't quite fit into my Flatmates series. The others will probably center around Hermione and Sherlock's two years on the run and Mycroft and Anthea, because I like the idea. <strong>_

_**Please tell me if you pick up on the subtext. Or the other pairings. **_

_**Recovering from a cold,**_

_**Hood and Genius**_

_**P.S for those struggling. Think Skyfall...**_


	2. Dr Hooper DI Lestrade

It had been four weeks since the death of Sherlock Holmes.

It had been five weeks since her best friend had walked out of her life.

And for the first time in a month Molly Hooper was finally allowed back inside her mortuary.

There was paperwork which was stacked up to her ears as the inquiry had kept her away from the vital work she had to finish. Everyone had been under investigation, from John Watson up to and including her mortuary attendants many of whom had never even _met_ Sherlock. She'd been asked the same questions over and over again.

How she'd known the detective?

When was the last time she'd seen him?

Had she had aided in his suicide?

Molly answered to the best of her ability and found that she hadn't needed to lie once because the answers were simple.

She'd met Sherlock work when he was consulting with New Scotland Yard and wished to examine a body.

The last time she'd seen him he'd been sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinets in the laboratory.

And she hadn't helped him commit suicide. As far as Molly Hooper was concerned, Sherlock Holmes was dead.

Probably.

What really confused Molly, she decided as she added another file to her 'Out Tray', was the way no one mentioned Hermione. Not one of the police officers or the government officials or even the newspapers. Sherlock Holmes' grieving widow should have been front page news but somehow Molly's best friend had gone completely under the radar.

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><p>It took her the rest of the afternoon to remove the small mountain from her desk. As she shifted the last load of paperwork off the desktop the scent of scorched wood drifted up, tingling at her nostrils and she frowned, paused and then rubbed one finger across the small burn mark. It looked as though someone had pressed a red hot brand into the wood and Molly considered the stylised bird for several seconds before, very decisively, moving her desk lamp so it was covered.<p>

So, no. Molly Hooper knew absolutely _nothing_ about the famous detective's death. The disappearance of her best friend however...well the jury were still out on that one.

* * *

><p>She didn't see any of her friends for a long time. John had become a recluse and, as far as Molly knew, barely left his flat. She didn't know Mrs Hudson well enough to feel comfortable dropping around unannounced and she doubted Mycroft Holmes even knew she was human. So she was somewhat surprised to see a familiar face marching into her morgue two months after Sherlock's death.<p>

"Molly!" Greg Lestrade called cheerfully, holding out his arms to hug her. Molly moved to greet him similarly, before she remembered that she was elbow deep in a corpse and Greg probably didn't want blood on his coat. She smiled at him instead and began stripping off her gloves and washing her hands.

"How've you been?" She asked as she finally managed to hug him. Greg wrapped both arms around her and squeezed tight, making no comment that the hug lasted longer than was traditionally appropriate.

"I'm fine, Molly." The detective gives her a bright, brittle smile, looking as handsome as ever. "Finally allowed off probation and I figured it was safe enough to come and see you."

Molly winced.

"You too, huh?" She murmured, vaguely acknowledging the surveillance she'd known she was under. Whether it was Mycroft or someone more sinister, Molly wasn't sure, but the unsettling feeling of being watched was now almost permanent.

Lestrade grimaced in agreement.

"Listen, can we talk somewhere..." He gestured to the bloody corpse, looking slightly off-put. "Not here?"

"Mr Jones isn't going to tell anyone." Molly grumbled but led the way to her office all the same. She offered him a chair, but noticed that he didn't sit until she did. Which was nice.

The police man sighed heavily.

"Have you heard from 'Mione?"

Molly started and knocked her coffee cup off the table with one sweeping arm. Greg retrieved the, luckily empty, mug from the floor and set it firmly in the middle of the desk, before turning to look at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry!" She flushed. "It's just that...No. No, I haven't." Her voice squeaked and she only just resisted the urge to clap her hands over her mouth. For two months Hermione, much like her husband, had been this ghost who was never spoken of for fear of evoking the wrath of the dead. To actually say her name out loud felt wrong, somehow. She didn't think Greg actually believed her denial, but he continued on anyway.

"Right. Well, I had a visit from some thugs."

"Thugs?" Molly coughed and made an effort to lower her voice to below canine hearing. "Thugs?" She repeated.

Greg chuckled.

"Yeah. Right pathetic ones too. They came up to me outside the station of all the bloody places and demanded to know the whereabouts of one Hermione Granger."

Molly frowned, leaning forward.

"But..."

"...And I told them," He said, cutting across her with a smile. "That I didn't know anyone by that name and if they'd kindly bugger off. Now they didn't take kindly to that and they said they had proof I had known Miss Granger and that she'd been married to one Mr Holmes."

That caught Molly's attention. As horrible as it sounded, in their circles Hermione had been known by her marriage first and her, frankly outstanding achievements second. To hear Sherlock spoken of as an after thought...

"That's...unusual." She decided.

Greg scowled.

"Yeah. This is where it gets really weird though. They told me she was wanted for _treason_ and that with holding evidence could have serious repercussions."

"Hermione?" Molly thought it over. "She wouldn't..."

"Overthrow a government?" Greg offered. "Commit an act of terrorism?"

"Do anything bad." Molly corrected, glaring.

He shrugged.

"I don't know. But I ran her name through Interpol's lists, any list I could get my hands on even. Nothing. She's not wanted anywhere, not even for a parking ticket!"

"She can't drive." Molly murmured distractedly, still thinking. "What did you do?"

"Huh?"

"About the thugs?" She explained.

He grinned.

"I told them to piss off and set the desk Sargent on 'em. Haven't seem them since. I just wanted to make sure that they hadn't come sniffing around here."  
>Molly assured him they hadn't and they sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company.<p>

"Where do you reckon she is?" He demanded suddenly and she jumped.

"Away?" Molly offered.

He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I get that. I mean...Her husband died and she didn't even come to the funeral! That doesn't sound like the woman we knew, does it?"

"Have you asked John?" Molly murmured. "If anyone'd know..."

"I went to see him." Greg eyed her grimly. "It's not...he's _better_, I guess. Anyway I mentioned her name and he just sorta froze. So I asked if he'd seen her since..." He coughed. "And he told me that she'd found out what they'd said in the papers and left. Looked right furious about it as well, not that I can blame him."

"That...doesn't sound like her." Molly frowned. "Hermione was loyal. I mean, she hated Sherlock half the time, but she was loyal. To a fault."

Greg hummed in agreement.

"That's exactly what I thought." He told her. "She's a good woman." He added thoughtfully.

Molly was all too aware of this. It had taken her almost five seconds to fall in love with Hermione Holmes and in that short space of time she'd been beating her husband with a cooler in defence of Molly's honour.

What could she say? She had a weakness for stubborn geniuses.

As a result she'd been in awe of the woman ever since, although even she could admit that Hermione was riddled with flaws, her inability to give others vital information being one of them. Molly had never met anyone who could remain so closed mouthed about themselves.

"I'm sure she had her reasons." Molly offered.

"I don't doubt that." Greg leaned across her desk. "But the question is how did she manage to get all of her belongings out of that flat in the hours between that bloody article being published and either John or Sherlock getting home." He grinned again, looking boyish. "Doesn't make sense, does it? Because I can tell you, I looked. When people leave in a hurry things get left behind, socks, books. But there's nothing there! It's like we imagined her!"

Molly cocked her head to the side and thought.

"Hmmm. I knew they had to have a reason to make you Detective Inspector." She teased.

"Hey!" He scowled at her. "I am a great detective. I just _looked_ like a right idiot because I was usually standing next to Sherlock bloody Holmes."

She laughed, feeling happy in a way she hadn't in months.

"I know the feeling."

They continued to chat for several minutes before Molly announced that she really should be getting back to work and Greg agreed to show himself out. Unfortunately as she stood, Molly's lab coat caught on her desk lamp and sent it clattering to the floor, taking a flurry of paperwork, stationary and a paperweight with it.

"Shoot!" Molly bent to retrieve the detritus and froze when she realised the burn mark was exposed on her desk for all to see. Greg appeared to be staring at it, half crouched as he'd moved to help her.

"Where'd you get that?" He whispered.

Molly panicked.

"I...uh...I don't know. It was just _there_ when I got back from work." Resolutely, she covered it up again with the lamp, leaving the rest of clutter on the floor.

"Only," Greg said, sounding rather odd, "There's one just like it on my desk. I only found it when I came back from leave."

Molly stared up at him, startled.

"Oh," She whispered.

* * *

><p>They met up again several days later, ensconced in a quiet corner of St Bart's cafeteria. Molly was picking half heartedly at her dinner as she was on the night shift again.<p>

"They have to be connected." He argued, stealing one of her chips. Molly jabbed at his hand with her fork and laughed when he scowled at her.

"Well...yes. The question is who do we both know that could sneak into both our offices and burn things into our desks? It would take time...effort..."

"Patience?" He offered.

"Well...yes."

They met each other's eyes.

"You don't think it was her, do you?" He glanced away suddenly. "Only..."

"What?"

"The first time I met her there was this door which had been blasted open. And there was a burn mark on the door. The case turned out to be nothing of course, couple of kids wasting my time."

"It could be linked." Molly shrugged. "Maybe she's trying to leave us a message."

"Why us though? We don't know anything useful."

She chewed thoughtfully.

"It's just an idea." She pointed out, spearing another chip.

"We're probably over reacting." He added. "It'll be nothing."

* * *

><p>"I found another one!" Greg hissed conspiratorially as he handed her a cardboard mug filled with steaming coffee. How he knew her order was beyond Molly's imagination. "On Donavon's desk!"<p>

Molly led him out of the hospital without another word, only stopping when they were sitting on a park bench in a nearby park.

"Donovan came to me to report office vandalism." He explained. "So I went a looked and she said it'd been there for weeks and she'd only just remembered to complain about it. Do you think...?"

"That proves it!" Molly announced gleefully. "It _has_ to be her."

Greg stared at her.

_"How_ does that prove anything? They hated each other."

"No, they didn't." She assured him. Molly sipped her coffee as he almost squirmed impatiently next to her. "What department was Sally in before she transferred?"

Greg frowned for a moment.

"Domestic abuse, I think...ah."

Molly hummed in agreement.

"And if you were Sally and you heard that the psychopath you believed was one caffeine shortage away from a murder spree suddenly had a wife who was under the age of twenty five...?"

Understanding dawned on his face and Molly trailed off. It didn't paint a picture that any outsider would like.

"Oh." He murmured.

"Uh huh." She gulped at her coffee, eager to finish it before it got cold. "The way Hermione told it, Sally knocked at the door one day and asked if Sherlock was in. She nearly had a heart attack because Sally was being polite and..."

"Sargent Donovan can be somewhat difficult towards those who associate with Sherlock Holmes." Greg broke in diplomatically.

"If by difficult you mean a right bitch, then yeah." Molly's language caused the Detective Inspector to choke on his next sip, which made her giggle. "Anyway, Hermione invited her in and Sally started asking all of these questions. Really general at first, like did she have any hobbies, does she go out with her friends? She didn't even mention Sherlock, so Hermione was really confused. It took her a while to catch on, which is saying something for 'Mione. It wasn't until Sally asked if she felt safe in her home that she finally worked it out. So Hermione assured her that Sherlock hadn't bought her online and he wasn't abusing her..." Molly waved a hand through the air. "But..."

"Sally's stubborn." Greg finished for her, catching on surprisingly quickly. "And domestic abuse victims don't tend to admit to being abused."

"Exactly. So, they started meeting for coffee once a week and they...they weren't friends really. But I think they cared about each other." Molly shrugged, nonplussed. "They certainly respected each other even if Sally was just trying to fulfill her belief that Sherlock was a bastard and Hermione was just trying to prove otherwise."

"Right." Greg sounded completely unnerved by the thought that his second in command had been in regular communication with Sherlock Holmes' _wife._ "And that settles it _how_ exactly?"

"It's a message." Molly told him smugly and Greg grinned back at her for a moment, unused to a Molly Hooper who could finish an entire sentence without stuttering and rather enjoying the experience. "And I think we're safe to say it's from Hermione."

"All right, fine. What does it mean?"

Molly chewed her lip as she thought. They simply didn't have enough information, which meant that they were going to need to see the one person who did.

"I think we need to talk to John."

* * *

><p>John Watson looked like a dead man walking, with pale skin and a left hand that shook almost constantly. His clothes were clean though, still dressed with regimental neatness which Molly found somewhat comforting. Mrs Hudson had let them in eagerly, ushering them upstairs and bustling around making tea for what looked like the first guests in weeks.<p>

"How've you been?" John asked. It didn't look like he particularly cared, asking more out of habit than anything else, but Molly and Greg assured him they were fine regardless and waited until Mrs Hudson had left before they spoke again.

"We need to know if you've seen something like this before?" Greg handed over the manilla envelope that contained a photo of the symbol burned into Molly's desk. "We think Hermione left this as a message."

John stared at the picture for a full minute, and then he slapped himself in the face, which caused Molly to jump, and looked again.

"It's not a bird. It's phoenix!" He murmured eventually, eyes stirring slightly with curiosity. It was the most life Greg had seen from him in months. "Where on earth did you find this?"

"Them." Molly corrected confidently. "There's one on my desk at work, one on Greg's and one of Sally Donovan's. Probably one in Mrs Hudson's flat if we wanted to look."

John stared down at the photograph.

"She...Hermione, had one of these. A tattoo. She kept it covered with makeup most of the time, I'm sure Sher... _he_ never saw it. But I ran into her one morning and I asked and..." He traced the pattern with a finger. "She told me it was a phoenix. She said that they were these mythical creatures who never really died, even when you thought they were dead and buried, they resurrected themselves from the ashes. She told me she'd been a member of some gang or something and..." John stopped talking, stopped breathing even. His eyes widened and he looked up at them almost brimming with energy. "She...This message. It's for me?" He squeaked.

Greg nodded.

"We think so."

"But..." Molly swallowed. "If that bird means resurrection then..."

"He's not dead!" John whispered.

And fainted on to the floor.

* * *

><p>Greg put the doctor to bed, rather impressing Molly when he carried the man up a flight of stairs without much apparent effort, and tucked him in. Molly put the flat to rights again, wrote John a note for when he woke up and accompanied Greg to the door.<p>

"I could use a pint." Greg announced and seized her hand, dragging her to the nearest reputable pub. He looked surprised when she ordered a pint of beer and Molly grinned.

"What?"

Lestrade shrugged as they snagged a table in the corner.

"I thought you'd be a cocktail girl is all."

"My family's from mining stock." She explained, taking an, admittedly delicate, sip. "My dad brought me up in pubs like this."

Greg took a fortifying gulp of his own drink to avoid asking the question that had been on tip of tongue. Molly didn't mention her father often, so most people knew not to push her on it.

"I can't believe..."

Molly tugged on his sleeve and made a rather obvious gesture to remind him that they were in public.

"Me neither." She finished.

They drank in silence for a while, letting the quiet atmosphere of a Tuesday evening wash over the pair of them. Molly shrugged her coat off and pulled her hair out of her tight ponytail, leaving it loose around her face and Greg who'd been staring out the window looked back and frowned.

"What?" She asked nervously. "Don't do a Sherlock and tell me I look better with it up." Molly pleaded, only half joking.

Greg, still frowning shook his head.

"No. You're fine, Molls." She flushed at the nickname. "As always."

"You are being weird." She told him proudly and downed the rest of her drink.

"I am an idiot." Greg murmured, which only made her frown deepen. "Molly?"

"Yeah?"

He bolstered his courage and viciously kicked the large amount of self-doubt his ex-wife had left him with.

"Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

Molly froze, did a remarkable impression of rabbit pinned under the headlights of an advancing car and then nodded.

"Yeah." She looked surprised by her own answer but the a proper smile bloomed on her face. "Yes, I would. That'd be nice."

* * *

><p>It was almost two years since the death of Sherlock Holmes.<p>

It was a year and a half since Molly and Greg got together.

And Gregory Lestrade was down on one knee in the middle of the mortuary, proposing to Molly Hooper.

"Kinda need an answer Molly." He prompted, trying and failing to not look nervous.

Molly grinned and threw herself at him, which he took as a yes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**This is the next one.**

**What did you think?**

**I'm...not in a good place right now. People keep making the introvert do things.**

**Feedback would be good. **

**Hood**


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